The night air hung heavy, tinged with tension and the faint scent of crushed grass. Past midnight, a sharp cracking sound sliced through the quiet—like a firecracker exploding somewhere on the edge of the field. Akshat sat up immediately, senses firing. That wasn't random.
He stepped out of his room, following the sound, and froze when he reached the ground. Around fifty boys formed a loose circle, the dim floodlights casting long shadows that stretched like claws across the grass. In the center stood Tae Jin, hands in his pockets, a confident smirk painted across his face. The cold air brushed against Akshat's skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and tension.
"So you came," Tae Jin's voice carried, loud enough to make everyone hear.
Akshat's gaze swept the crowd. Too many. Far too many. Even at full strength, he wouldn't last long. His body still bore the aches and bruises from earlier.
Tae Jin raised a hand. "You guys don't move. I'll deal with him myself."
Ah. Not just revenge. A performance. Crushing him publicly. Fine.
Tae Jin charged. In an instant, his hand twisted around Akshat's left arm—a tight snake lock. Pain shot up his shoulder. With a swift motion, Tae Jin dragged him to the ground. The boys around them laughed. The hold tightened, shoulder burning. But Akshat wasn't done.
He planted both feet into the grass, thighs straining, abs coiling. Slowly, deliberately, he rose—his arm still trapped, his right hand free, fist clenched.
First punch—he leaned back. Missed.
Second punch—he swung off balance, grazing his own cheek. Laughter erupted again. Tae Jin smirked near his ear. "Embarrassing."
Akshat exhaled. Calm. Focus.
Third punch—rotated hips fully, weight behind it, knuckles slammed into Tae Jin's jaw with precision. Grip loosened instantly. Eyes rolled back. Tae Jin collapsed, unconscious, into the damp grass.
The field went silent. Fifty boys, frozen under the floodlights. No laughter. No words. Just heavy breathing.
Akshat rolled his shoulder slightly. Pain reminded him he wasn't untouchable.
Then, one by one, the circle moved. Fifty boys charged. Chaos. For a heartbeat, even he felt the panic. Then he saw the layout. Open space, gym equipment scattered across the field—pull-up bars, parallel bars, benches, metal frames, training racks. Obstacles and barriers. Advantage returned to him.
He ran. Laughter behind him—"Run! He's scared!"
Akshat sprinted toward the main electric pole. One almost grabbed his shirt—he ducked under a bar, reached the switch box. Tackle from the side—elbow back, arm freed. Click. Darkness.
The floodlights died. Panic erupted. Footsteps stumbled. Shouts carried across the pitch: "Who turned off the lights?!"
Akshat moved low, fast. Each strike precise. First—a punch to the throat. Second—knee to the stomach. Third—sweep kick behind the knee. Bodies collapsed into blind spots. Groans and coughs echoed.
A hand grabbed his collar, another locked around his waist. "Turn the lights back on!" someone yelled.
Click. Floodlights returned.
Four boys held him. Breathing ragged. Faces twisted with anger. But something inside him had already shifted.
No thought. No technique. Just raw instinct.
Twist of the torso. Drop of weight. One lost balance. Forehead slammed into another's face. Freeing his right arm, he moved—elbows, knees, short kicks, unpredictable angles.
Ten more dropped. Then deeper instincts kicked in. Not rage. Not madness. Survival. Aggressive. Overwhelming. No space to recover. Palm strikes to the nose. Shoulder checks to the chest. Driving them into equipment. Using momentum to throw them down.
Remaining boys hesitated. And hesitation—death. Within minutes, the field was littered with groaning bodies. Knuckles scraped. Left arm broken. Lip bleeding. Under harsh lights, Akshat stood alone. Fifty came. Not one remained standing. Tae Jin still unconscious.
He wiped blood from his mouth and muttered quietly: "…You chose the wrong battlefield."
Through the chaos, a figure emerged—black hair, sharp features, six feet tall, aura both dangerous and alluring. He stepped closer, smirk teasing, and shoved a lollipop into Akshat's mouth.
"Well done, dwarf boy," he murmured, voice low, seductive.
A grin spread across Akshat's face. Teeth bared like a wild animal.
Before he could react further, the figure struck—an uppercut kick connecting sharply to his jaw. The world went black.
The floodlights flickered, the grass smelled of sweat and adrenaline, and the night had turned into something else entirely—a proving ground, and Akshat had just claimed it.
End of ch 15
To be continue...
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